Methods In Madness
by hruss
Summary: With Bellatrix Lestrange for a cousin and Romilda Vane for a sister, it seems like insanity runs in Emma's blood. Not that she was going to let this little fact keep her from surviving the war at all costs... Anyway, crazy times calls for crazy measures, right? Sort-of OCs, but otherwise very canon. Takes place during DH. NOT an EmmaXNeville fic.
1. Prologue: A Most Grievous Affair

_May, 1998._

Somewhere in the depths of the esteemed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a young woman sat curled up in a dry, quiet corner.

Only it wasn't all that dry, seeing as the young woman in question had numerous, fat streaks of tears streaming down her cheeks.

It also wasn't really quiet, since she happened to be weeping rather loudly.

It wasn't much of a corner, either—most of the wall had been blown clean away, so it was more of a pile of rubble.

The young woman rested between lengthy bouts of misery to regather her strength, before starting all over again.

Such unseemly displays of emotion were generally frowned upon in the Rosier family, but right now Emilia Cosette Rosier-Vane—less ridiculously known as Emma—couldn't bloody care less.

It was all her fault.

Emma blew her nose into a scrap of cloth formerly belonging to Bellatrix Lestrange's favorite set of battle robes.

Then she remembered that self-blame wasn't encouraged in the Rosier family either, and decided that she still cared enough not to blame herself for anything.

So now it was all Ginny Weasley's fault. And Neville Longbottom's. And Tristan Krait's, though Emma couldn't bring herself to blame him just yet. And Tom Riddle's. Ooh, and Albus Dumbledore's too, the old coot.

She felt marginally better, and continued in this vein of thought for some time before coming to the conclusion that Severus Snape was to blame for _everything._ Oh yes, he was.

The whole mess had started with him choosing her to be Head Girl, after all.

_I'll kill him_, she thought grimly, drawing her wand from its sheath.

Wait, he was already dead.

Emma started crying again.


	2. A Meeting and A Very Bad Idea

_"One is never afraid of the unknown; one is afraid of the known coming to an end."_

_~Jiddu Krishnamurti_

* * *

In wartime, knowing to avoid the right people could very well be your only means of survival.

The September 1st crowd in Platform Nine and Three Quarters understood this all too well. It was nearly eleven o'clock, and the station was bursting with magical folk. Yet there were gaping holes in the mass of witches and wizards and screeching owls—_certain_ families were given a wide berth.

Three witches stood in the centre of the platform, seemingly unaware of the five-foot radius of empty concrete around them.

"Oh, Emilia, _just stay safe_—"

Emma Vane drew back from the half-hug and straightened her robes. "I shall, Mother; I'm not _completely mental_..." She shot a dark look at her sister, who scowled. "The same, of course, cannot be said for you."

Romilda rolled her eyes. "Here we go again."

"Yeah, spike _one_ Boy Who Lived with love potion and they'll never let you forget that you're an absolute idiot, right?" Emma stepped neatly out of the way as Romilda turned a rather nasty shade of purple and clawed at her with nails that were, coincidentally, painted the same color as her face.

"_Ladies, behave_," hissed Mrs Vane, a stately woman with coiffed blonde hair. That prompted a stiff "Yes, Mother" from Emma and another bout of eye-rolling from Romilda.

Turning away from her family, Emma squinted at the crowd through the omnipresent steam of Platform Nine and Three Quarters. She caught Theodore Nott's eye and gave him a quick nod, and continued to scan the mass of fussing parents and frantic students saying their goodbyes. Close by, a third-year girl was bawling like a toddler in her mother's arms. Emma sneered a little at this and went back to trying to locate her friends.

For the past three weeks, she'd had literally no means of correspondence whatsoever with her friends (and news sources). Virtually _anything_ could have happened while she was gone, and Emma was terribly anxious to catch up with the current goings-on in Britain—being in the middle of a war generally tended to do that to people.

Not that _she_ would be affected in any way. Still, she didn't like being kept in the dark.

So it was with a sigh of relief that she finally glimpsed a familiar dark-haired wizard leaping onboard the scarlet train.

"Mother, I think I see Tristan. Well... I suppose I'll be off then."

Emma exchanged another brief hug with her mother (they'd never made a big deal out of goodbyes, unlike _some people_), levitated her handsome walnut trunk through the window, and hopped into the carriage. As she looked out to the platform she thought she saw a look of sheer terror pass through her mother's face, but the older woman quickly composed herself and waved as if nothing had happened. Swallowing, Emma gave her a small smile and blew a kiss before hurrying down the length of the train to find her friend, her trunk floating behind her like an oddly shaped balloon.

She fought back a twinge of melancholia as she pushed past a throng of sixth-years. At any rate, it wasn't like they hadn't had the whole of the summer together, she tried to rationalize. There wasn't any need to linger on the platform for any longer than necessary.

Though she would _kill _herself if that had been—god forbid—her last goodbye to her mother.

Tristan wasn't in any of the compartments. Emma had bumped twice into her friend Terry, but he hadn't seen Tristan either. With a mounting sense of dread, she made her way towards the compartment right at the head of the Hogwarts Express. The Head's compartment. The only compartment in the whole train that required a key to get into. Her heart sinking, Emma unpinned the Head Girl's badge from her uniform and pressed it into a depression on the door where the handle should have been. It was an exact fit. And the door slid smoothly open.

"Oh," moaned Emma, her heart sinking past her feet to somewhere below the train tracks. "You."

"Me," said Tristan firmly, holding up his shiny new badge.

Making up her mind, Emma quickly entered with her trunk. "Who in their right mind would make you Head Boy?" she all but shrieked the second the door closed behind her.

"For a second there I almost thought you were not pleased to see me."

Emma collapsed into the seat opposite him as her trunk zoomed into the overhead compartment (which, she noticed sadly, also happened to contain Tristan's luggage). "I _am_ pleased to see you! Just not here! You're _evil_! You can't be Head Boy!"

Tristan rolled his eyes. "Considering the new...regime, I highly doubt that they would choose a bloody Gryffindor, or worse, a _Hufflepuff_, Emma."

"But you weren't even a prefect!" Her mind raced, her finger tapping involuntarily against her wand. Perhaps she could find Professor Snape after the Feast tonight, persuade him...

"They wanted a Slytherin as Head Boy this year, of course, and since Draco just disappeared into thin air—"

Emma's finger stopped tapping. "Sorry, _Draco_ isn't attending Hogwarts this year? But I thought he of all people would at least be—"

"Safe?" Tristan snorted. "Please. You know the Malfoys are hardly the Dark Lord's favorite people right now. In fact, it's more than likely that they're under house arrest at the moment."

Emma raised her eyebrows, a little miffed that Tristan knew what she didn't—after all, _she_ was the one who was actually related to Draco. Although never really close, she and her second cousin had always been on amiable terms, occasionally helping each other to escape whenever a social gathering they both attended got more or less too boring.

But something about Draco had changed last year; he'd retreated into himself and had been frightfully rude to her (and everyone, really) for no particular reason. Emma had forgiven him after finding out what the Dark Lord had forced him into doing, but they'd never really been in contact since.

She sighed. "So they chose you instead." Her words had a horrid sort of finality to it.

"Yes. It's obvious I'm the brightest and most responsible in my year..." At this, Emma put a hand to her chest and mimed puking, but Tristan barreled on. "Also, pot, kettle, black. You yourself weren't prefect in fifth year."

If Emma had the ability to turn red, she would have. "I was in sixth."

"Yeah, thank your lucky stars that Patil's parents didn't want her to attend school last year and made her give up her prefect status. Congratulations on being second choice."

Emma was too used to his jibes to take offense. "Oh, sod off. Our meeting with the prefects starts as soon as the train leaves the Platform, Tristan. Much as I'd love to continue letting you insult me, we really ought to be discussing what to say later."

She panicked slightly—he probably hadn't even read the Heads' booklet.

Tristan frowned. "I already know what to say. Prefect duties—patrol corridors of train and school, stop people from going to Hogsmeade illegally, make sure students are not killing each other, be a general uptight prick, take as little House points from your own House as possible, give out detention to people you don't like, shag each other half to death in their special bathroom, be meaner to Muggle-borns to let the Death Eaters have a more favorable impression of you—did I miss anything?"

Emma looked at him, surprised. "You actually did read the booklet, didn't you?"

"Do I detect an attempt to question my sense of responsibility?"

"You..." She bit her lip, the smile sliding off her face as she realized something. "You were being serious about doing things that would please the Death Eaters."

"Well, not exactly," said Tristan, sobering up. "I just think it would be unwise to anger them. They're going to be in the school, so we ought to—"

"Keep our head down and not get into any trouble." That had been Emma's plan ever since Dark Lord and his minions took over the country's bumbling excuse for a Ministry.

"Right. Even if it required..."

There was a long pause. Both Head Boy and Girl knew what the unfinished sentence implied.

Then Tristan broke the silence, as he always did. "I think I want to go back to the States. After we leave school."

Emma's head snapped up. "No!" That came out a little too strongly, and she hastily amended, "That's absurd, you can't just leave me here!"

"You've got Lisa and Mike and Terry and Su! And that big Hufflepuff. What's his name—Cadwallader? While I... I have no one."

"Don't be ridiculous. You've got Tracey and Theo. You've got me. Is this some bloody House thing, because I swear—"

Tristan sighed. "It's much, much bigger than a 'House thing', Emma. Don't you see? There's a _war_ out there, and once we're out of school we're no longer protected; we're expected to pick sides. I don't fancy either side, to tell you the truth, and hell, I don't want to be caught in their crossfire."

"I don't want to, either," she whispered, and drew her robes tighter around herself. "It's not that I'm a coward. It's just... There're still so many things I want to do, you know?" Tristan nodded jerkily, and she continued, staring at the polished wooden. "I've been thinking a lot about, oh, everything." She gestured with her hand and gave a short laugh. "And sometimes... There are honestly times when I thought I should just run away from it all. But with this Head Girl stuff and a completely mental, _Gryffindor_ sister to look out for, I suppose I'll have to hold out for the year. Besides, there are still the lessons."

At this, Tristan sniggered, and the solemn atmosphere was broken. "As if we don't already know everything they're going to teach us, Emma."

She smiled. "You're awfully Ravenclaw for a Slytherin, Tristan."

"Yeah, but my plan is to use knowledge and sheer wit to take over the world, not rot away in a library."

"I suppose you think you could use _knowledge and sheer wit_ to end the bloody war." It had been intended as a rather snooty remark, but as soon as Emma said it she regretted it. Because from Tristan's thunderstruck expression, she had unwittingly given him an Idea. There were two people in the world you would never, ever want to accidentally give an Idea to. One was Romilda Vane. Tristan Krait was the other.

"Look, we're moving," she said quickly, in a desperate, futile attempt to distract him.

"You're right," he said vaguely. The train was indeed pulling out of the platform, and they silently watched parents and children who were yet not old enough to attend Hogwarts bestow last-minute goodbyes through the haze to those onboard; some were weeping quite hysterically. Emma hadn't noticed before, but a lot of them seemed to be wearing black, almost as if in mourning.

A young boy who couldn't be older than five was running after the Hogwarts Express as fast as he possibly could, his little legs pumping and his face flushed dark red. But he had reached the end of the platform; he was calling out something, but his words were snatched away by the wind. The Hogwarts Express was picking up speed—soon he receded into a mere tiny speck in the leftover steam. Emma turned away from the window and regarded Tristan sternly, as if daring him to say anything.

He opened his mouth, but she firmly spoke over him, "It's time for the meeting, Tristan."

Before he could say anything else, Emma slid open the door and marched away.

The prefect's carriage was still relatively empty when she entered. Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillian waved, already seated, and there was a slightly jumpy-looking fifth year that Emma didn't recognize, and that was it.

"Where are the others?" she asked Hannah.

The other girl shrugged. "They're probably on their way."

Ernie glanced at Emma's badge. "Wait... That's not a prefect's badge! You're Head Girl?" She nodded. "Congratulations."

Emma tried to figure out whether he was being sincere (she wasn't really tight with the Hufflepuffs, other than Gordon), but before she made her conclusion, the door opened behind her.

"Hello, Hufflepuffs." Tristan sounded falsely chirpy.

Ernie scowled at him. "You?"

The Head Boy gave an airy wave. "Why is that _everybody's_ first reaction? I know Professor Snape's the new headmaster, but it doesn't mean that everyone should be a grumpy git like him too."

As the fifth year tittered, Ernie relaxed a little. "Never knew you Slytherins didn't like Snape, either."

"_Headmaster_ Snape, Macmillian. He's alright, but one is well aware that he is not a charming man."

The door opened again, and this time a stream of people came into the carriage. A quick head count told Emma that all the prefects were present, save two. She distinctly heard someone mutter, "Better him than Malfoy!" and cleared her throat loudly. "I'm taking attendance now!"

She took out a roll of parchment from her pocket. "Ernie Macmillian."

"First!"

Emma ignored him. "Hannah Abbott."

"Here, of course."

"Blaise Zabini."

"Here."

"Pansy Parkinson."

"Here!"

"Anthony Goldstein."

"Emilia Vane." He mimicked her tone.

"Sod off, Tony. Padma Patil."

"Here. You didn't reply any of my owls!"

"I received everything you sent me an hour before leaving for King's Cross, Padma! Don't be silly. Ronald Weasley?"

Silence.

Emma looked up from the piece of parchment. "Ronald?"

Pansy emitted a derisive snort. "Weasel isn't here, Emilia. And Mudblood Granger too, naturally."

An outraged hiss escaped from a girl Emma vaguely recognized as one of her sister's cronies. "_You bitch, how dare you_—"

"Enough, Victoria. And you too, Pansy," Emma snapped as Pansy smirked and began to say something. "You're prefects, for Merlin's sake. Don't use that kind of language again. One point from Slytherin and Gryffindor."

Pansy glowered, while Victoria looked outraged. "You can't take points before school even began—"

"Oh yes, I can," said Emma grimly. "So, absentees? I'll have to tell Professor McGonagall..."

Tristan snatched the name list from Emma. "The rest are all here. Don't have to waste time on attendance."

Pansy snickered; Emma glared at him. "Right," she said, feeling a little self-aware as all eyes trained on her. "Obviously, Tristan and I are Head Boy and Girl this year. Get used to this, because we're the ones who will be conducting all prefect meetings, which will take place once every fortnight. And as I demonstrated just now—" Emma gave a slightly mocking nod to Victoria, who scowled. "—The Heads have the power to dock points from any House for student misdemeanors." She shifted, speaking to the fifth year prefects in particular. "Prefects are also allowed to dock points, but only from their own House, and for small offences only. You can also issue detentions as a form of punishment. Serious offences are to be reported to your respective Heads of Houses, not dealt with by yourself."

"Small offences," drawled Tristan, "include name-calling, wearing the uniform incorrectly, breaking curfew, and otherwise petty things that nobody really cares about, with the exception of Filch, who seems to think such behavior deserves a lifelong service in Azkaban." Several prefects laughed. "Serious offences include cheating, getting caught in extremely compromising positions while not yet of age—" He waggled his eyebrows at Blaise, who grinned unabashedly. "—using forbidden curses, and being Harry Potter, who, I believe have lost as many points for Gryffindor as he had gained from blatant favoritism." Even the Gryffindors chortled a little at this. But his tone grew serious. "However, as Professor Dumbledore had... retired under extremely unfortunate circumstances last year, I'll have to warn you that Professor Snape may hold very different views on rule-breaking." He looked at Emma, who took the cue.

"There will be significant changes this year, I'm afraid." She gazed solemnly at the prefects. "In addition to Dementors, Death Eaters will be standing guard at Hogwarts." There was a collective gasp. "We were told they're there solely for your safety. But I'd urge you to keep your peers from toeing the line at all costs, if you know what I mean." Paling, they all nodded, except for a few Slytherins, who looked smug.

Tristan took over. "On a slightly more boring mode, the roster for patrol and Hogsmeade duty will be sent to you after dinner tonight." A collective groan. "And as always, after the Feast, fifth year prefects will be taking the first years from their respective Houses to their dormitories and explaining the school layout and rules."

Emma was surprised; he really _did_ read through the booklet. She could reconcile with the idea him being Head Boy, she supposed. "Also you'll have to patrol the Hogwarts Express later, from time to time," she added.

Tristan grinned. "Now, fifth years, let me tell you about the prefects' bathroom..."

* * *

_A/N: Emma Vane's name has appeared in the PoK movie, so I guess technically she's not an OC. I just happened to expand her vastly, like what Harry did to Aunt Marge. Only figuratively. Tristan's entirely an OC; I needed a Slytherin boy who isn't tied to Voldemort at all. He is also based on a friend of mine, who insisted so loudly I was to write about him that I relented._

_On a side note, I'm making Mandy Brocklehurst a Slytherin instead of a Ravenclaw. Only non-canon thingie so far._

_Also, if you're wondering why the sudden seriousness in tone compared to the prologue, I assure you that as the plot gets more absurd and out of hand, the tone will match that as well._

_REVIEWS PLEASE._


	3. The Least Informed Heads Ever

"Tristan," said Emma suddenly, coming to such an abrupt halt that the Slytherin nearly walked into her. The meeting had ended—much to Tristan's glee—and they were heading back to find their friends.

"What is it?"

"Hand me the name list."

Unquestioningly, he handed it over. He knew her too well to ask why; she didn't do anything without a proper purpose.

Her eyes flicked down the parchment. "I thought so! 'Anthony Goldstein, Padma Patil, Ronald Weasley, Herbert Fleet.' Do you see anything wrong with that?"

He pulled the name list toward him for a closer look. "Huh, Granger's name isn't on the list; they skipped straight to the sixth year prefects. There're only twenty-three names on this list, not twenty-four! We got the total wrong..."

"And Richard Stebbins is supposed to be the sixth year Hufflepuff prefect, not Fleet. And they replaced Felicity with Latisha! My own juniors! And I didn't even notice!"

"Stebbins was Muggle-born. Like Granger."

The blood drained from Emma's face as a horrible possibility struck her, and she instinctively bit her lip to get some of the color back. She had _not_ anticipated this.

She managed to find her voice. "So was Felicity. And I hadn't seen either her or Stebbins so far."

"But nobody said anything about the Muggle-borns being arrested or killed or something. And I'm sure I saw Dean Thomas when I boarded the train."

"We couldn't possibly know for sure..." Seeing his look of confusion, she added, "Oh, not about Thomas. I mean about how the Muggle-born prefects seemed to have disappeared. You've spent your summer with Muggles, Tristan. Well, that _and _the fact that the Wizengamot issued you a lifelong ban from subscribing to any British wizarding newspaper after you... Never mind. And I've been in an Unplottable part of Europe until yesterday. Neither of us had access to the Prophet."

Tristan gave a mirthless laugh. "I suppose you're right. '_Mudbloods Banned From Being Prefects_', what a quaint headline. Isn't it odd that they didn't bother to replace Granger..."

"We've got to be the least informed Heads ever!" Emma fumed, and strode down the corridor. "It wasn't in any of the mail the school sent us, and none of my friends mentioned it in their letters!"

"Wait, where are you—"

Emma slid open a compartment door with a bang. "Put that wand down, Longbottom. Weasley, I want a word."

Having leapt up from their seats, Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley eyed her warily.

Emma ignored their glares and walked boldly into their compartment, pulling Tristan with her. With a wave of her wand, the door shut behind them.

"Where are Hermione and Ronald? And Potter, for a matter of fact?" A quick scan of the compartment told Emma that it contained only Weasley, Longbottom and, to her surprise, Luna Lovegood, who was looking up from her magazine with vague interest. Potter was nowhere to be found.

"Though it's none of your business, Vane... My brother's down with splattergroit. And Hermione's on the run, haven't you heard?" Weasley pursed her lips and stared straight into Emma's eyes.

_Liar._ Emma was usually against performing Legilimency on unsuspecting people, but Weasley (like most Gryffindors) was simply abysmal at Occlumency—it was as if she were _broadcasting_ her thoughts. And the deliberate failure to mention Potter—insultingly transparent.

"No, I haven't."

Weasley put her hand to her mouth in mock surprise. "A Ravenclaw? Being uninformed? My, isn't that something new."

"Well?" snapped Emma impatiently. She contemplated using proper Legilimency on the redhead.

"The Ministry's been rounding up all the Muggle-borns since a couple days ago. Apparently, according to 'recent research', Muggle-borns have been stealing magic from wizarding folk. So they're arresting them." The look of distaste was clear on the redhead's face.

Of course. Emma silently berated herself. She was a fool not to have expected it. Well, she had _thought_ about it, but... If the Dark Lord was really so bent on getting rid of the "Mudbloods", wasn't it a much smarter move for the Ministry to lure all the Muggle-born students to Hogwarts _and then_ capture them, instead of driving them into hiding (which makes them a lot more difficult to catch)? She had assumed that things would turn out this way, but evidently the Dark Lord operated by pure evilness alone, instead of cunning.

"Well that's rubbish!" exclaimed Tristan, after a short silence. The two Gryffindors positively goggled at him. "What? Even a Slytherin's not daft enough to realize that's a complete load of crap! How the hell can you steal magic?"

Weasley shrugged. "It's not as if they even needed to try. They could make up anything and we'd have to go along with it. Why do you care, anyway, Vane? Head Girl this year? Looks like the Death Eaters like you."

Emma's jaw clenched. "Unfounded accusations won't get us anywhere, Weasley."

"Unfounded?" Longbottom spoke up for the first time, a strange look on his face.

Emma was about to ask him exactly what he meant by that, but Tristan cut in. "The Heads have to be from different Houses, Longbottom. Slytherin is obvious, and Ravenclaw is still considered alright by Death Eater standards. And Emma's the only pureblood witch in her House that didn't come from a family of so-called blood traitors."

Longbottom didn't look convinced, and was still staring at Emma oddly.

"So Potter and his friends are out on the run trying to defeat the Dark Lord, then?" Emma drawled, looking pointedly away from him.

"_I never said—_"

The compartment door crashed open, and in came one of the ugliest women Emma had ever seen. In Death Eater robes.

Neville's wand snapped up. "Who are—"

Said ugly woman leered at him. "HA, thought I smelled trouble! Longbottom, is it? That's _Professor Carrow_ to you, you blood traitor. And who are you?" she bellowed at Emma.

Recovering quickly from the shock, Emma replied smoothly, "Emilia Vane, Professor. I'm Head Girl this year. You see, Tristan and I were just interrogating the blood traitors for the whereabouts of Potter and his friends." It was technically the truth, and Emma knew she couldn't afford to get on this woman's bad side.

Carrow's eyes flickered briefly to the badges on her and Tristan's chests, and her boulder-like face cracked into a hideous smile. "Helpful, aren't you? Severus had definitely made the right choice, yes." Weasley looked livid. "So where are they?"

Emma smiled sweetly back at her, making up her mind to lie. It wouldn't help the Death Eaters, and since Potter and his friends were probably going to get caught soon anyway, it wouldn't help them either; she didn't want to worry about which side she was on just yet. And it would save Weasley (and Longbottom, if she'd been stupid enough to tell him) the questioning that was bound to come. An added bonus—putting Potter's girlfriend into her debt would certainly come in useful in the future.

"Professor, Potter's apparently so deluded of his own abilities that he ran off without telling anyone, presumably to overthrow the Dark Lord single-handedly." Carrow roared with laughter. "His alleged best friend, Weasley's brother—" She nodded at the redhead. "—is down with splattergroit and is fortunately unable to join him, though even if he did he wouldn't be of much use anyway. Potter's other friend, the mudblood Granger, is of course on the run from the Ministry. I knew her personally, Professor. Despite her filthy blood, she's actually quite intelligent, so I reckon she's probably out of the country by now."

Carrow's piggy, mud brown eyes met Emma's blue-grey ones. Her heart hammering in her chest, Emma prepared her Occlumency barriers, but the expected mind-probing did not come.

"And you're sure of this?" the Death Eater inquired.

"I'm not trained in Legilimency, Professor, but I'm familiar with the theory. I think I can tell when I'm being lied to." At this, a look of comprehension flashed across Weasley's face, and her eyes shot daggers at Emma. "At least, I know that Weasley and Longbottom here are telling the truth as they know it."

Carrow seemed to believe her; the Death Eaters would probably not interrogate them tonight. It was more than enough time for Weasley and Longbottom to extract the relevant memories from themselves and find someone else to hide it for them, so that even if they had their minds read they wouldn't be able to give away the location of the memories...

"Though that's not saying much, Professor." Tristan had stepped in with a smirk plastered on his face. "The blood traitors are... Oh, how do I put it? Too much of a _liability_ to be considered by Potter to be his confidants."

Weasley, to her credit, snarled at him.

Carrow frowned. "Really? They were in the Department of Mysteries with Potter..."

"Me too," piped up Luna.

"You're that old loon Xeno's daughter!" Carrow had apparently just noticed her.

Tristan sniggered. "Professor, I think perhaps they were there by mistake. Even Potter wouldn't have chosen this bunch of losers to be his friends."

"You're right," sneered Carrow, "They don't know nothing at all, do they?" She looked at Tristan appraisingly. "Head Boy, is it?"

"The name's Tristan Krait, Professor."

"Krait?" Carrow squinted at him suspiciously. "Haven't heard of that one before."

"I'm American, professor. My parents died at the hands of blood traitors when I was two. My father's brother adopted me and we moved to England." He snorted derisively. "But he's a Squib. I ran away as soon as I was of age."

Carrow didn't notice Emma's raised eyebrows, and tutted sympathetically. "You're pureblood?"

"Of course, Professor."

The Death Eater took a step out of the compartment. "Wonderful."

"You go on, Professor," said Emma. "Let's just say we have some unfinished business with Weasley and Longbottom. Negative House points for Gryffindor even before school began!"

Carrow chortled hideously and clomped away, to everyone's immense relief.

Emma leaned in, aware that Weasley and Longbottom were staring, flabbergasted, at her and Tristan. "They won't be questioning you of Potter's whereabouts tonight. I don't know how much you know, but if you're smart you'll remove all memories of whatever crucial information you possess in your little brains, including this conversation. Tonight. And I don't mean Oblivate, either. Do you know how to extract a memory?"

"I do," said Weasley, and, for some reason, flushed a dark red.

"Do so, and ask someone else to hide it somewhere safe. You've got to make sure you know absolutely nothing at all. Nothing, understand? They're going to find out that your brother is with Potter sooner or later, and they'll definitely give you a rough time then. You've got to be perfectly innocent. Don't give them any reason to hurt you." Weasley's eyes widened. "And don't look Professor Snape in the eyes."

"And twenty points from Gryffindor." Tristan shrugged noncommittally. "Well, I promised Carrow."

"Thanks," said Weasley quietly.

"See you in the common room later, Emma." Luna went back to her magazine.

Longbottom didn't say anything at all.

"This never happened," hissed Tristan at the trio, and took Emma by the arm.

And they left.

"What on earth was that about?" Tristan exclaimed, once they were far enough away.

Emma bit her lip. "They'll be questioned at one point or another, and since it's Death Eaters we're talking about, I doubt that their method of interrogation would be politely asking questions over a cup of tea!"

Tristan tightened his grip on her arm. "It was foolish of you." His eyes were cold.

She snatched her arm away and regarded him with equal coolness. "Why, that's low, even from you. So if you had your way you would have done nothing?"

"The Gryffindors don't concern us, Emma," growled Tristan. "Lying low, remember? Prominence makes one a target, Emma."

"Oh, and what did I do to make myself _prominent_?"

"By feeding her false information on Potter's actions, which she would immediately inform the Dark Lord of—telling her that Weasley didn't know anything was enough, you didn't have to add such... embellishments. And revealing that you knew at least a little about Legilimency... You just proved yourself to be such a smart, resourceful little pureblood." Tristan paused and stared directly at her. "And what qualities do the Dark Lord value the most, Emma?"

Emma bit her lip.

* * *

"What do you mean, the Death Eaters came to Platform Nine and Three Quarters?" Emma gasped. She was squeezed in a compartment with most of her friends; Tristan had gone to look for his housemates Theodore Nott and Tracey Davis.

Terry furrowed his brow and pushed his glasses up his nose. "You weren't there?"

"No, I went into the train early to look for Tristan."

Everyone glanced at each other. "Emma," said Gordon Cadwallader patiently. "They came into the train too."

Emma lit up with understanding. "Right, I was in the Head's compartment. You need a password to get in there."

"And they know both you and Krait were pureblood, yeah," said Michael Corner in a muffled voice (he was the tallest of them all and was therefore banished to window seat, his face pressed against the windowpane).

Su Li smirked. She was a small, loud Asian girl who was either laughing or furious, but nowhere in between. "Nay, Em's dad is half-blood. So she's only three quarters pureblood, if there's such a thing."

Emma shot her a dark look. "_Anyway,_ back to Death Eaters. What happened?"

"They came at the last minute to take away Muggle-borns who didn't get the message. Some seventh years tried to Apparate away, but there were security charms all over the place so they couldn't get away." Terry's expression darkened. "It's not fair. It wasn't in the school letters at all, and most Muggle-borns don't subscribe to the Prophet."

"Though judging by the current _trash_ they're printing, it's a wonder why _anyone_ would subscribe to it," muttered Su.

Something twisted in the pit of Emma's stomach. "They sent the school letters to _everyone_. I remember before I left for Italy, L... Lisa wrote to complain about the textbooks they set us. That's why some of the Muggle-borns still showed up; they didn't know."

She had spoken of Lisa with a stab of pain—one of her best friends in the world, now on the run, heaven knew where she was. She quickly pushed the thought from her mind; she would think about it later. Not now. It was obvious that everyone else was trying to avoid the topic.

Regina had warned her plenty of times that making friends with Muggle-borns could be a mistake.

Right now, Emma wondered whether her older sister could have been right.

Su brought her fist down. "It's not fair," she echoed Terry. "Especially the first years, they had no way of knowing..."

Emma felt a twinge as she thought of their young, delighted faces, getting their letters, finding out they could do _magic_, that they were going to study at Hogwarts... Buying their owls and wands and poring excitedly over their textbooks, without an inkling that in just a few days' time this newfound happiness would be seized from them by tall, masked men in black cloaks, when they were so close, _so close_ to having every one of their childhood fantasies being realized. They were too young to be robbed of their innocence, to be forced to discover the truth about the magical world in the worst possible way...

_It had to happen so _we _could all lead better lives_, Draco's father had once told her over dinner. Sometimes there had to be sacrifices.

"Excuse me; I need some air," she muttered, and ran out of the compartment to the head of the train. She needed to be alone.

* * *

_A/N: Emma is a hellishly difficult character to write. She starts off as this snooty if slightly Hermione-ish character, but then you realize she's actually a bloody manipulative creature. Then she goes all "good" again._

_This chapter is where the madness begins, really._

_Reviews please!_


	4. An Introduction To The New Regime

A trail of carriages moved eerily through the night, seemingly pulled by nothing in particular. Thestrals, thought Emma vaguely, but her mind was elsewhere. The thick layer of dead leaves crunched loudly beneath the wheels of her carriage, and the air smelled damp—a storm was brewing.

A bad sign, she told herself.

Tristan had joined her in the Head's compartment earlier, and after Emma had finally relented after a pointed and rather huffy silence on her part, they had a long conversation speculating why they had been chosen as Head Boy and Girl, and what the rest of the year entailed.

Nothing made sense at all. Emma had read in Hogwarts: A History that before 1980, the Head Boy and Girl of Hogwarts were allowed to be from the same House. What had happened in 1980 was a completely unexpected student boycott by _Hufflepuff House_, no less. Apparently, when two Gryffindors had been chosen as the Heads that year, it caused an outroar amongst the Hufflepuffs, all of whom were sure that their star student and seventh year prefect, Richard Wallenby, was going to be Head Boy. So they'd voiced out their grievances to the school administration by refusing to attend lessons for two straight weeks, claiming that blatant favoritism and the outright discrimination against their House made them too ill to do their homework. Eventually the rule was changed such that the Head Boy and Girl had to come from separate Houses, after which the Hufflepuffs resumed their lessons and skipped all of the mass detention sessions they were issued.

The perplexing thing to both Emma and Tristan was that the rule could be easily changed back by the Headmaster, and with so many Death Eaters about the school, the students would never dare to stage another boycott. So why hadn't Professor Snape made two Slytherins the Head Boy and Girl instead?

Emma Vane was hardly the ideal candidate, compared to the Slytherin girls in her year. The fact that her mother was a Rosier couldn't really make up for her father being half-blood and Romilda going around flaunting her "blood-traitorness" (as Regina put it).

Aside from being one of the more nasty Ravenclaws, Emma had never publically showed any allegiance with the Death Eaters, so it really didn't matter that Bellatrix Lestrange was her first cousin twice removed. Most purebloods were related, anyway. Severus Snape was not a stupid man; that said, Emma and Tristan combined probably couldn't think of anything the former Potions Master haven't already thought of.

And Tristan. Why was he the Head Boy, for Merlin's sake? He was pureblood and the most devious wizard in the entire year—or school, even—but he was also _American_, which in the most esteemed British pureblood circles was almost synonymous with "troll". Nothing much was known about his family, except that his parents were killed and that he was lovingly (or horribly, depending on who he was talking to) brought up by his Squib uncle and Muggle aunt. He loved Muggle science and thought that pureblood superiority was rubbish. In fact, he was the one who came up with the theory that pureblood inbreeding was directly causing the increasing number of Squibs in old wizarding families!

Emma scowled and leaned back against her seat. Anything that she didn't know frustrated her, and this was driving her insane.

Beside her, Michael cast her a worried look, but it was an unspoken rule in Ravenclaw that one was never, ever to disturb a fellow housemate when they were thinking.

Both Emma and Tristan had agreed that the most likely (and most frightening) reason for all of this was that the Death Eaters were trying to recruit them. Emma tightened her grip on her wand. Although Hermione Granger and Terry Boot were the ones who competed annually for first place for grades, the Hogwarts staff was more than aware that Emma and Tristan were two of the brightest (or the darkest, in Tristan's case) in the year—they had made sure of it.

What most of the staff didn't know was that they'd also (illegally) learnt Legilimency and Occlumency with Michael and Terry in their fifth year, and were just beginning to grasp the concept of projective Legilimency (which was something like telepathy). It would be difficult, but not impossible, for the Death Eaters to discover this; they had been putting up Occlumency barriers around Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape ever since Michael had conducted a rather disastrous experiment to see who at Hogwarts were Legilimen.

What else, mused Emma, mentally checking a list of their combined abilities. Their prospects were looking rather grim at the moment. Second and third place in the Hogwarts Dueling Championships last year. Extensive knowledge of curses and hexes, thanks to Tristan, who snuck her books from the Slytherins' private library. And not just the theory, either—both had practiced the Imperius Curse on each other last year (purely for Science, Tristan had claimed) and the Killing Curse on a couple of spiders and a dying fox they had found in the Forbidden Forest. Tristan seemed to know everything there was to know about potions (especially poison), while Emma's years of studying magical theory with Terry and Lisa had meant that she could do almost anything with a wand within the limits of magic.

If it was known...

What perfect little Death Eaters they would make.

They had long surmised that all the staff, portraits, ghosts and elves in Hogwarts had reported to Dumbledore when he was alive, which would explain why the old man seemed to have an uncanny knack for knowing everything that went on in the castle.

Emma was uncomfortably aware that many of the things they had done in school were highly illegal—enough to get several years in Azkaban each. If their theory about Hogwarts's secret information web was correct, then their extracurricular activities had surely not escaped Dumbledore's notice. Though Emma never had a one-on-one conversation with the former Headmaster, Tristan had. Several times, in fact. Especially after he... Nevermind. It just meant that Tristan was definitely an object of Dumbledore's focus—he'd always complained that the "old coot" had never seemed to trust him. Indeed, Emma could recall a rather chilling instance when Dumbledore had fixed them with a particularly disconcerting stare as they passed him on the way to Herbology.

Tristan appeared to be extremely worried about this. If Dumbledore had guessed what they were capable of, then they couldn't be sure that he hadn't shared his suspicions with anyone else. As long as there was even a _slight_ possibility that anyone_ else_ knew what Emma and Tristan could do, there was a possibility that the Dark Lord would find out about it.

And even if he didn't, the Dark Lord would still surely be keeping his eye on them, after Emma's earlier...miscalculation.

So keeping their heads down was definitely not an option now.

Emma sighed, then jumped a little as Hogwarts loomed into view. Never had the stone turrets and battlements of the castle looked more imposing, or threatening, even.

I have nothing to offer you, she thought, as a team of Death Eaters stopped her carriage and began their search for suspicious objects.

Her jaw tightened as one of them cast some sort of revealing spell over the seat. Another inspected trunk. Emma stared stonily at where the thestrals were supposed to be. _How dare they—don't they know who I am?_

"Nothing here," said one of the masked men and waved the carriage through.

As Emma passed him, his profile caught the yellow light spilling from the castle's windows; his eyes followed her, two holes in the gleaming silver, a flat, almost soulless black that showed no sign of recognition. She shrank back into her seat.

She was stricken by the realization that none of the men who searched her carriage knew who she was, or even cared. The Dark Mark was spreading. The Death Eaters were now no longer limited to the adults whom she grew up around, who picked her up and swung her around and bought her expensive things; the men and women who were proud and beautiful and utterly merciless, if only to those who crossed them. Now the Death Eater ranks have swelled, with wizarding folk flocking in from all over Europe and the rest of the world, who didn't know her and didn't give a damn whether she lived or died.

The carriage rattled to a stop.

_Oh, but __I had rather have such men my friends than enemies._

* * *

The Great Hall was oddly quiet during the Sorting Ceremony, which was a first. Although attendance to Hogwarts was now mandatory for all students, there were miserably few additions to the school without the Muggle-borns. Some first years looked on the verge of fainting with terror, while others sauntered over to the stool and sat down with unmistakable Pureblood grace. They knew they would face no animosity because of their lineage.

But they were hardly invincible, reflected Emma from the Ravenclaw table as she clapped politely after each of them were Sorted.

Danger wasn't the only thing that could break you.

Finally, "Yaxley, Ezekiel" was made a Slytherin, and thin applause rang through the Hall while the Sorting Hat was put away.

Emma looked down the length of her table. Only seven new Ravenclaws this year. Lisa, Kevin and Morag (a pureblood—but she'd fled the country in the hope of avoiding the war) were conspicuously absent. Her eyes narrowed as she wondered if Lisa had been at Platform Nine and Three Quarters; a glance at Michael beside her told her that he was thinking the same thing.

_Please let her be okay._

_Please..._

From the staff table, the new Headmaster rose to his feet. On either side of him sat Carrow and—Emma pursed her lips incredulously—a man who'd somehow managed to look every bit as ugly as her. He, too, was dressed in Death Eater robes.

The war had penetrated Hogwarts. No one was safe anymore.

"I am Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts." At the sound of the familiar monotonous, silky voice, the Great Hall fell deathly silent. "There are a few— _notable_—changes that all students must be advised of. Joining us this year will be Professors Alecto and Amycus Carrow, the former teaching Muggle Studies and the latter teaching the Dark Arts."

The students began to whisper amongst themselves, shocked at the subject name change. But a glare from Professor Snape silenced them once more. "Muggle Studies is now mandatory for all students, and yes, Dark Arts will replace the former curriculum of Defense Against the Dark Arts." His tone was flat, as ever. Michael reached out and squeezed Emma's hand, cold fury etched across his handsome face.

"There will be no Quidditch Cup."

The whispering started again this time, much louder than the first. Michael's hand tightened over hers; Emma did not look at him. Her insides were boiling. Mere days ago she'd thought she would never be affected by the world exploding around her; she would pity the casualties, of course, but _she herself _would never be touched at all, would she?

How silly that seemed now.

"_Silence_. All student organizations, societies, teams, groups, and clubs are henceforth disbanded. An organization, society, team, group, or club is defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from either myself or the Professors Carrow. No student organization, society, team, group, or club may exist without my knowledge and approval. Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an organization, society, team, group, or club that has not been approved will suffer the... consequences." Emma closed her eyes. It was almost a word-for-word recitation of Educational Decree No. 24.

"_Umbitch_," hissed Su, and the Great Hall buzzed once more.

Emma twisted to glimpse at the Gryffindors, who were making the most noise. Neville Longbottom was looking as if he was going to be sick.

Snape didn't even bother to contain the hubbub this time—in fact, he sounded almost lazy. "All Hogsmeade permission forms must be resubmitted and your eligibility to Hogsmeade weekends will be reevaluated. Failure to abide by school rules will result in detentions overseen by the Professors Carrow, who has kindly agreed to double as the discipline master and mistress." Emma drew a sharp intake of breath as the Carrows smiled gleefully in unison. "That is all. You may eat."

Food materialized on the tables, but Emma wasn't particularly hungry. Michael released her hand to attack the scrambled eggs.

"Come on, Em," he said through a mouthful of egg. "The school's right screwed up, but you've got to eat something."

Knowing that protesting would only cause all of her friends to converge in on her, Emma grimly brought a small slice of quiche onto her plate.

"There," said Michael, and took a sausage, apparently satisfied.

Emma held her knife and fork like surgical implements and made a small incision across the quiche.

Opposite her, Su was ranting to Terry in a low voice. "...And no more Quidditch Cup? Does You-Know-Who _want_ us to hate him? Even that crazy Muggle _Hitler_ allocated leisure activities for his people!" She glanced at Emma and Michael apologetically. "Sorry. I know you guys were going to play this year."

Emma surreptitiously moved her hand to her thigh, where she had strapped a shrunken-down emergency broomstick. "It's fine. I'll get Professor Snape's permission to reform." She tried to smile. "Besides, perhaps we cannot blame the Dark Lord—I doubt we'll have 3740 hours of leisure time in our NEWT year."

Su chuckled; the rest looked confused. Emma sighed and took a measured sip of her pumpkin juice.

Terry leaned in, concerned. "You look a little peaky, Em. You alright?"

Emma gave a bitter laugh. "No." She looked across him to the Slytherin table, where Tristan was seated between Theo and Daphne Greengrass's little sister. None of them were touching their food. "None of us are, really."

The Ravenclaw girls' dormitory felt awfully empty without Lisa and Morag that night.

* * *

_A/N: __Parts of this chapter are borrowed from Off Dreaming's fanfic On The Other Side, because I want some of the events in her fanfic to happen in MIM too (yep, Astoria Greengrass will make an appearance)! Go read her fanfic, it's really good._

_As to why Dumbledore seemed unsettled by Tristan and Emma, it'll become obvious later._

_If you find out why or if there's anything else you want to point out, you can tell me in the reviews!_


	5. Mein Kampf

"Now," Alecto Carrow jabbed the blackboard with her rather stumpy-looking wand. "As you all know, the Wizangamot has recently passed a Muggle Legislation which states that no wizarding folk is allowed to marry, have sexual relations or in any way fraternize with a Muggle as of 10th September, 1997. The punishment for violating this law will be life imprisonment in Azkaban." Emma looked down at her desk, which contained her new Muggle Studies textbook and a copy of _Mein Kampf_, which she had Transfigured to look like _A Study of Wizarding Genealogy in Great Britain._ They had all read of the law in the _Prophet _at breakfast yesterday. "What a wonderful, wonderful improvement, don't you think?

"For centuries, we have wondered whether the wizarding world could ever recover its health, whether the Muggle problem can ever really be eradicated. The Dark Lord has cast away all of these worries. To stop a disease from spreading you would have to get to the root of the contamination. The Dark Lord has done so. He knew, before anyone else, that this contamination, this poisoning of wizarding blood would not subside until fraternization with Muggles has been entirely outlawed. He knew the best way to kill a basilisk was to kill it in its shell, before it even hatches. And with that he has saved us all. Our blood will be cleansed of impurities, and the soul of wizarding society will be purged of evil."

It was odd to hear such grand, lofty words coming out of such a crude mouth; Carrow had memorized a speech by heart—that much was clear. And yet she spoke with a fervency and reverence that eliminated any doubt of whether she really knew what she was talking about. She did know, and she believed every word of it.

There was a scraping noise as Neville Longbottom rose from his chair. Every eye in the classroom turned on him. Emma bit her lip and set down her quill. It was always a Gryffindor. Seamus Finnigan had exploded in their very first Muggle Studies lesson. He had gotten detention—nobody really knew what happened during it, but his face was still pretty badly bruised.

Longbottom pointed a finger at Carrow and let out a short bark of laughter. " 'The soul of wizarding society will be purged of evil'? 'Bit hard with Voldemort prancing about these days, don't you think?"

Carrow's face flushed red with anger, and Emma briefly closed her eyes. Longbottom had changed a lot since the end of fifth year, and she really had her doubts whether it was for the better (although Padma did remark that he had lost his pudginess and was now, in fact, rather good-looking; Emma grudgingly agreed).

Longbottom continued, "So now that we are no longer allowed to 'fraternize' with Muggles, what does Voldemort expect us to do, inbreed ourselves to death? Will he breed us all like dogs?"

Emma was surprised; did _Longbottom _know about Hitler's _Lebensborn_? With a chill, she wondered if the Dark Lord was planning a wizarding equivalent.

Well, she was certainly not volunteering herself.

"_You dare call to the Dark L_—" Carrow's voice rose dangerously as she trained her wand on Longbottom.

He looked unperturbed. "Yes, I dare. Voldemort. It's a name he gave himself, isn't it? If he doesn't want us to call him that... Well, why come up with some silly anagram like this in the first place?"

Everyone in the room flinched as Carrow made a sudden movement; they were sure that she was going to strike him there and then. But instead she twisted around and, suddenly, Emma found herself face to face with the Death Eater. "Miss Vane," said Carrow, a smile replacing the snarl on her face. "Stand up."

Emma stood, feeling her whole body go rigid. One could almost hear the entire seventh-year cohort suck in their breath simultaneously.

Carrow placed an affectionate hand on Emma's arm; Emma repressed a shudder as she looked down at the grimy, claw-like fingers. "Miss Vane is going to demonstrate how to use the Cruciatus Curse on Mr Longbottom."

It took an insane amount of effort not to reveal the horror Emma was feeling on her face; instead she adopted a look of mild surprise and polite puzzlement. "Professor, we've only just covered the curse in Dark Arts, and we've only practiced on animals."

Carrow's smile widened. "This waste of magical blood will not be much different, I can assure you that." Emma's eyes flicked to Pansy Parkinson, and Carrow seemed to catch her meaning. "Oh, no, not this time. I just thought it would be interesting to _carry it down a generation_."

Emma had no idea what the woman was talking about, but Longbottom shook his head viciously and backed away, all defiance gone from his face, replaced with shock and outrage and... Was that fear?

"You look so much your aunt Bella, Emilia," crooned Carrow.

And suddenly everything clicked into place. Longbottom's expression... His parents had been tortured to insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange, it was in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. _AndEmma, she... She finally understood Carrow's twisted idea of a joke.

Emma found her voice. "My cousin, Professor. Not my aunt. My mother is a Rosier." It came out as barely more than a whisper.

"Of course, of course. The... eyes." Heavily-lidded and blue-grey, the infamous Rosier eyes had been passed down for twenty-one generations. "So would you do the honors?"

A moment of hesitation. Her eyes locked on Longbottom's warm brown ones.

"_Longbottom? Why I have had the pleasure of meeting your parents, boy...__" Bellatrix Lestrange's face came out of the darkness, a grin stretched across her emaciated face. His nose was broken and the wand in his hand wasn't his, but he was going to _kill_ her. But something was holding him back, and he writhed..._

_He was yelling at Harry. Don't, don't, _don't_ give them the prophecy, and then—_

_"Crucio!" said Bellatrix._

_A blinding, obliterating, all-consuming agony swept across him—the worst pain he had ever experienced in his life—and he was on the floor. He forgot that he was too proud to scream or lie begging at _her_ feet, he just wanted it to stop, it was torture at its finest and every inch of his body was on fire and he could feel his mind coming apart at the seams and please please please make it stop ohgodohgodohgodstop..._

Emma's knuckles were stark white against her wand. If that was what a mere _memory_ of the Cruciatus Curse was like...

"Miss Vane." The tone had lost all of the pseudo-sweetness now; it was a threat.

_I cannot—,_ thought Emma, and Neville's eyes widened with something like hope. It was the second time she had succeeded at projective Legilimency, but she really wasn't in the mood to celebrate.

Then she wiped her mind blank, as if she were preparing an Occlumency shield.

Carrow began to open her mouth, her piggy eyes narrowed, but Emma overrode her. "Crucio," she said dispassionately.

And Longbottom fell to the floor, screaming.

* * *

_A/N: :(_

_Poor Neville, thinking that Emma would refuse to torture him - as in, "_I cannot_ do this." But what she really meant was, "_I cannot_ refuse."_

_Short chapter, but the drama makes up for it, I think. Did you like it? Tell me in the reviews!_


	6. High Treason At Midnight

Longbottom's punishment was the first of many to come. Any student who dared to cross the line would suffer the same fate—and as the sixth and seventh years had moved on from the Cruciatus to other advanced curses in Dark Arts, the methods of punishment for these foolish, wretched creatures became progressively more creative and stomach-churning to watch. Under the threats and watchful gazes of the Carrows, student was turned upon student, and soon the hallways were filled with a terse atmosphere of mutual fear and suspicion that made Hogwarts seem more like miniature warzone held on ceasefire than a haven for learning.

Unsurprisingly, it was the Slytherin students who were called on the most to hand out punishments, but to the rest of the Houses' bafflement, many of the students wearing green and silver ties looked—if possible—even unhappier than _they_ were.

Emma understood exactly why. After Longbottom's punishment the Carrows hadn't called on her again, but she was still having a miserable time. She was avoiding all of her friends (and, of course, Longbottom), practically camping out in a corner of the library and handing out poisonous looks to anyone who dared to come near. Wanting to reduce the time spent with her housemates as much as possible, she began to do nightly patrols, much to the Carrows' approval.

"_Lumos_," thought Emma, and a brilliant light emitted from the tip of her wand. It was nearly midnight, and she was doing her usual round on the sixth floor checking for students out of bed. With the stairwell now illuminated, she waited for the stairs to stop moving before going up a flight.

There was a scuffling noise as she reached the seventh floor. "Who's there?" she called sharply. "Show yourself!"

The corridor was empty. Emma exhaled. Probably a rat. She grimaced and lapsed back into her thoughts.

_The lips moved. _

_"Crucio." _

_He fell._

_Bellatrix's heavily-hooded eyes were gleaming out at him, mocking him. _

_But wait—he was seeing double, the pain of the curse had gone to his head at last, he was going mad, he was howling, wait, no, it was just one person, and she wasn't Bellatrix, she was, she wasn't, she was..._

Emma leaned heavily against the wall and balked at the mental image of her own face staring coolly out at her, uttering the Unforgiveable word, feeling the agony that followed. She really hadn't meant to use Legilimency on Longbottom after the Muggle Studies lesson. He had been walking shakily out of the classroom, supported by Finnigan, and as Emma tried to rush past him, he called out her name. When she'd turned around and met his gaze, the memory of his... punishment hit her like a brick wall, almost as if he was _projecting_ it to her.

Though, of course, he couldn't have, and she blamed herself for letting her guard down.

_But why hasn't it happened before?_ Asking herself that for what seemed like the thousandth time, Emma pressed her face against the wall, her head spinning. Longbottom's memories of her and Bellatrix had surfaced so constantly in her thoughts and nightmares that she felt like she was going insane.

A loud thud and a muffled "ouch!" sounded somewhere behind her.

Emma snapped around, embarrassed to have had a potential audience when she was showing such a moment of weakness.

"Stupefy!"

To her surprise, the red jet of light was deflected by a particularly strong Shield Charm. "No need to do that!" came a slightly indignant, disembodied voice.

Emma raised her wand warily, ready to attack again. There was a muttered incantation as a Disillusionment Charm was lifted.

She groaned inwardly. "Longbottom."

_Of course_ it was him.

He came a little closer to her, his hands raised above his head. "Look, here, don't hex me, alright?"

"Why out of bed at such an hour, Longbottom?" She kept her tone casual, as if she hadn't tortured him until he had to spend three nights in the Hospital Wing a couple of weeks ago.

"Well, I didn't know I'd run into you here."

She narrowed her eyes at his poor attempt at a joke. Bloody Gryffindors. Were all of them like that? "Very amusing, Longbottom. Twenty points from Gryffindor."

"You're not going to give me detention, are you?" His face was taut.

Emma sighed. With the Carrows conducting them, she wasn't. "Not if you tell me what you're up to."

Longbottom seemed to contemplate this. "How about instead you tell me why you helped Ginny?"

She jerked back. "_I told you to extract that memory! You'll get me _killed_!_"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I did. I, uh, just, needed it tonight."

"What for?" snarled Emma.

"I needed to, um, discuss it with Ginny."

"Why aren't you _discussing_ it in your common room?" she practically spat.

"Er, because... Luna." He looked more than a little nervous under her venomous glare, and for the first time in nearly a year, Emma saw the clumsy, awkward boy that she'd once rather unkindly mocked in the hallways.

"Homenum Revelio!" There was nobody else in the vicinity. "And where is she?" sneered Emma.

"I was going to meet her—"

"The Ravenclaw Tower is on the other side of the castle, Longbottom."

He was quiet for a while. "You haven't answered me."

Emma was about to ask him what gave him the right to ask such things—then she remembered that she had _tortured_ him, after all. "Because she could have been hurt," she said shortly.

"Are you a blood purist?" asked Longbottom abruptly.

Emma stared at him. "No. It's unscientific. Though I cannot deny that coming from an old pureblood family lends you a certain... prestige."

"Why do you call Voldemort the Dark Lord, then? Only Death Eaters do that."

She was getting annoyed. "It's just a Rosier thing."

"Your dad is not a Rosier."

She was very annoyed now. "My father calls him the Dark Lord, too; he works with goblins. _Enough _with the personal questions, Longbottom."

He chose to ignore her. "Are you a supporter of Voldemort?"

"I fail to see if it's any of your business," hissed Emma dangerously, "Now tell me what you're doing here."

In a truly admirable exhibition of Gryffindorness, Longbottom pretended not to have heard her and ploughed valiantly on. "I don't think you are, Vane."

Emma cast thirteen security charms before replying, much to Longbottom's amusement. "This is treason," she hissed, once she was done. "But you're right." Seeing Longbottom's expression, she went on before he could ask. "But I don't have much faith in the whole Chosen One hype, either. Even _if_—and that's one huge and highly skeptical IF—Potter could kill the Dark Lord, surely he couldn't finish off all the Death Eaters. Dispose of the leader, and another will take his place—like the head of a hydra."

Longbottom shot her a very odd look. "Would you fight against the Death Eaters to stop them once and for all?"

"This is treason," said Emma coolly.

"Just answer me."

"If I am threatened, I would defend myself," she allowed, expressionless.

"You do have it in you, after all!" Longbottom smiled in a satisfied sort of way. "So would you join us, then?"

"Would I—pardon?"

He fished out a fat golden Galleon from his robes and seemed to write something on it with his wand. Emma fixed her own wand on his chest. "What are you doing?" Was it a message to the Carrows to tell them what she had said? Was this revenge? Oh, she'd make sure they would never believe him...

"_Emma_, hold on."

She blinked at the use of her first name, but was quickly distracted by the sound of footsteps. She removed the security charms; if it were Filch or a teacher, she didn't want it to look suspicious.

"Neville!" a hushed, excited voice came out of the shadows. Another Disillusionment Charm was lifted. It was Colin Creevey.

"Potter's old fan club president?" Emma was surprised.

Longbottom frowned. "You sound almost exactly like Malfoy."

"All in the family." Emma waved it off and peered at the mousy-haired newcomer, who was also holding a Galleon. "Aren't you Muggle-born?"

"Nay, turns out my mum's a Squib. Barely was able to come back."

Emma gave a mild "hm" with a _tiniest_ hint of condescension, before turning back to Longbottom. "What is he doing here? And _exactly _how many Gryffindors are out of bed tonight? Another ten points from Gryffindor!"

Creevey looked as if he was going to argue, but Longbottom admonished, "_Colin._"

"_Well?_" Emma was scowling freely at both of them now.

Creevey glanced at her shiftily. "Can you keep a secret?"

She nodded. _I'll assume you're asking me about keeping secrets_ in general. _So this isn't a promise._

"A serious secret," said Longbottom. His voice was steady, despite the thin film of perspiration between his upper lip and nose.

Vanessa silently performed a few calculations. Whatever the secret, Longbottom did not think she would betray him if he was willing to share. Which was highly suspicious, seeing as they were far from friends and she had Crucioed him once. Yet there was no advantage to be gained from not hearing it. And if it was something illegal, then it was very much to her advantage to know it.

There was definitely a possibility that it was a trap of some sort, but if _Neville Longbottom_ thought he could outwit _her_, he had another think coming.

"I would like to hear it." Her tone was even.

Creevey looked a little wary. "Wait, Neville, is this...? Are you sure about—"

"Yeah."

"But isn't she the one who—"

"Colin, just say it," whispered Longbottom hastily.

Emma watched this exchange with a mounting sense of trepidation. Something seemed wrong about this, but she couldn't place her finger on exactly what...

The younger wizard drew a deep breath. "Dumbledore's Army is meeting at the Room of Requirement."

"Pardon? Is this some sort of joke?"

* * *

_A/N: As for why Colin is there, you'll see. It'll be obvious if you read Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness. Haha, I'm making references to all sorts of fanfics in this story!_

_Emma is so jumpy, it's funny._

_Not very sure whether I like this chapter; tell me what you think of it! _


	7. The Cage: Part I

After recasting Disillusionment Charms on themselves and telling Emma to do the same, Longbottom and Creevey led her down the corridor and made several turns. With one hand clutching Longbottom's robes and the other keeping her wand trained on him (well, he couldn't see it anyway), she was only vaguely aware that they were heading somewhere in the direction of the Clock Tower.

The Gryffindor boys were being annoyingly mysterious about the whole thing, but she had her guesses. Dumbledore's Army—wasn't that the little club Potter had started in fifth year to learn defensive magic? Michael had told her about it, but as far as she knew they'd stopped meeting after Umbridge was sacked.

It was highly likely that Longbottom or somebody restarted it this year, only this time they were making it a real army. Or what they thought was one, anyway. Emma rolled her eyes, apprehensive; any "army" led by _Neville Bloody Longbottom _wouldn't last five minutes against a couple of competent Death Eaters. _Now he was dragging _her_ into this? _What the hell would he achieve by that? What made him so sure she wouldn't tell on him?

Longbottom made a noise for them to stop walking. They were standing in front of a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls to do ballet; Emma briefly considered what jinx she should use on him if it turned out to be a prank.

There was a soft rumble from behind. Emma whirled around, but didn't see anything. She let go of Longbottom's robes and, as he stumbled, dug her nails into his wrist, feeling a stab of pleasure as he squirmed in discomfort. "_What are you playing at, Longbottom_?"

"_Yeowch_—think about what Colin said!"

Creevey's words briefly flitted through her mind. _"Dumbledore's Army is meeting at the Room of Requirement."_

As soon as she thought of this, an impressive set of double doors appeared in the blank wall.

Longbottom chuckled. "Can you let go of me now, Emma?"

Emma was too flabbergasted to inform him sharply that, no, they were _not_ on first-name basis, no matter what, thank you very much. "A... A Fidelius Charm?" Her voice faltered.

Both the boys laughed. "Not in Ravenclaw for nothing, are you?"

She looked wildly between the sources of their voices.

So that was what had been bugging her. A Fidelius Charm, _of course_! She _couldn't_ tell on them, even if she wanted to—they'd lured her into a cage and locked the door. Better to bring her under the Charm in case she found out by herself.

She was sure they had been planning this ever since the day she Crucioed Longbottom. Longbottom had merely lucked out by running into her tonight.

Emma tried to fight for some sense of control. "Ingenious," she said coolly, glad that her face couldn't be seen. "Who's idea was it? Not either of yours, of course."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," said Longbottom, but he didn't sound angry. "And you'll find out soon enough." There was a hint of amusement in his voice, which Emma _definitely_ did not like.

But a small part of her was relieved that the so-called "Dumbledore's Army" had at least taken some form of advanced security measures. If she remembered correctly, the Fidelius Charm wouldn't give away anything even if someone else were using Legilimency on you. No wonder Longbottom hadn't been caught by Professor Snape yet, if he'd been conspiring against the Death Eaters in the Room of Requirement. Very clever.

"Ready?" said Longbottom.

Emma sighed, her curiosity overtaking her pride. "Fine, show me."

He pushed open the doors, and they went in.

They were in a cavernous hall with wooden panels where banners of the Ravenclaw eagle, Gryffindor lion and Hufflepuff badger hung. The place was littered with books, comfortable-looking chairs and curious little gadgets that Emma recognized as Dark Detectors. Lined up on each side of the room were wooden practice targets shaped like real wizards, with their faces obscured by horribly familiar-looking masks.

It looked suspiciously like an Auror training ground. Despite herself, Emma was impressed—Dumbledore's Army was really taking the "army" part seriously.

Then she realized that there were forty or so people in the Room who'd stopped whatever they were doing, and were staring directly at them.

Before either of them could react, the heavy doors slammed shut and they were pinned against the thick mahogany.

The back of her head hurting where it had slammed onto the wood, Emma looked painfully up to see Weasley standing before her, her wand outstretched.

"Ow, Ginny! S'all right, it's just me and Colin!" came Longbottom's voice from somewhere to Emma's left. "We brought a new addition."

The redhead hesitated. "What was the name of the plant you carried onto the Hogwarts Express two years ago?"

"Um, a Mimbulus Mimbletonia?"

Weasley visibly relaxed. With a flick of her wand, the three of them crumpled to the ground, and there was a light tap on each of their heads as their Disillusionment Charms were lifted. Straightening her robes, Emma got furiously to her feet at being treated in such a manner.

"You really didn't have to do that, Gin," said Longbottom ruefully as he and Creevey scrambled up after her.

"Sorry," replied Weasley unapologetically. "With you being half an hour late for the meeting and Colin so suddenly summoned, I had to check." Her eyes shifted to rest on Emma.

Was it her imagination, or did they glint almost... triumphantly?

"I was already running late; had to finish my Potions essay. Then I ran into _her_."

Emma bristled. "I was just doing my duty—"

"By deducting thirty points from Gryffindor," added Longbottom.

"—when Longbottom here _apparently decided on a whim_ that I should join this little army of yours." Emma raised an eyebrow.

At this, an arrogant grin spread slowly across Weasley's freckled face; she had clearly been the mastermind.

"So welcome to Dumbledore's Army, then." Smugly, she held out her hand for Emma to shake.

Seized with a sudden vindictiveness, Emma stared at it just long enough for an awkward blush to creep up the redhead's cheeks. Only then did she reach out coolly to accept the handshake—not without noting the irony in using her pureblood etiquette lessons to deliberately be rude.

Being tricked into the binds of the Fidelius Charm had placed Emma in an ill temper. It wasn't as if she actually wanted to betray them, but—however irrationally—she was absolutely _spitting_ mad that the _right_ to betray them had been stripped from her.

She'd _helped _the ungrateful little sods in the Hogwarts Express—_and this was how they repay her?_

"Are you just going to sulk there or are you going to properly introduce yourself to the DA?" said Weasley irritably.

The horrible handshake had apparently managed to infect Weasley with her foul mood; Emma was so pleased by this that she didn't bother coming up with a nasty retort.

"I'm Emma Vane," she said in a ringing voice, but at no one in particular. There was a gasp, and she caught sight of a mane of dark brown hair before it disappeared behind a Hufflepuff fifth-year. Emma frowned. "I certainly had no intention of joining you; I was merely brought under the Fidelius Charm so I couldn't give you away. As Head Girl, I thank you for your trust in me. And at any rate, I'll have you know that just because there's a Fidelius Charm doesn't mean someone outside of it won't find out."

"Is that a threat?" said Weasley loudly, as certain DA members made noises of outrage.

"No," replied Emma. "I won't try to do you any harm; I'm just telling you there are people out there who will. That's all."

The Room was quiet.

Emma took the moment to properly look through the DA members, mentally noting those whom she recognized. Almost all the Gryffindor upper-years were there, as were most of the Hufflepuffs.

She stopped dead as she locked eyes with Michael.

_He was there._

Emma tore her eyes from him to search the crowd. Terry was there. Su was there. Tony. Padma.

Each discovery felt like a slap.

_They were part of the DA, and they didn't tell her._

_They were her _friends_, and they didn't trust her._

_And now she was here _because _they didn't trust her._

_And..._

There was a collective exclamation of surprise as Emma marched towards the crowd. Michael flinched, but she walked right past without sparing him a glance.

A stocky Hufflepuff wizard let out a yell as she shoved him aside to reveal the girl hiding behind him.

It was Romilda.

* * *

_A/N: Decided to separate this into two parts!_


	8. The Cage: Part II

_(CONT. FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTER)_

_It was Romilda._

They stared at each other.

The people around them scooted instinctively away, as if they were a pair of uncaged Hungarian Horntails.

"Um," said Creevey from somewhere behind them.

Nobody even so much as looked at him.

The very air seemed to be crackling with tension; both sisters had their wands out now. Romilda took a step forward.

"UM!" hollered Longbottom, who'd apparently failed to come up with anything else to say.

Very reluctantly, the DA turned to face him.

Longbottom turned slightly purple at the unexpected attention. "Um. Um, so we'll resume practicing Patronus Charms, alright? Since there's a lot of new members this year... We've got to make sure all of us can cast it. May come in handy."

Emma drew a slow, shaky breath before lowering her wand. Romilda looked like she wanted to die of relief.

"So we'll all pair up then," said Longbottom, sounding a lot more confident. "Emma, we'll be partners this time."

Slightly disappointed that there would be no further drama, the DA did as they were told, and soon the Room was filled with silvery mist and cries of "Expecto Patronum!".

"Come on," said Longbottom in Emma's ear, and pulled her to a quieter corner of the Room.

"Kindly remove your hand from my person."

Sighing, Longbottom let go of her arm. "Are you going to tell me what the hell that was about?"

"Again, I fail to see what business it is of yours," said Emma waspishly.

"Technically, I'm the leader of the DA, so anything to do with our members concerns me."

Emma drew herself to her full height—and found she was still at least a head shorter than Longbottom. "I suppose you think you're quite something, don't you? _Leader of the DA_," she practically spat, "You're hardly even qualified to teach these spells, let alone head a bloody resistance movement against the Dark Lord. They're _children_! _You_ are barely more than a child yourself, and you want to pull my sister into battle?"

Longbottom had the nerve to look shocked. "I'm just teaching them how to defend themselves—"

She let out a shrill, derisive laugh. "As if that's all you plan to do! Don't take me for a fool, Neville Longbottom. You put a Fidelius Charm on your meeting place. You use fake Death Eaters for target practice. Isn't that a bit much for a _study group_?"

He held up a hand. "We all know the time will come for a battle. We're just preparing, Emma."

"_Don't call me that!_ You're preparing for _suicide_, Longbottom."

"I know there might be casualties—"

"Casualties? _Casualties?_ Just how many children are you planning to sacrifice in your pursuit to be a _shining war hero_?" She spat out the last three words. Longbottom looked thunderstruck. "Don't kid me for a second that any of you can last more than ten minutes against a decent Death Eater! What are you going to use against Bellatrix Lestrange, '_Expelliamus_'? If you want to end up like your parents, that's your prerogative. I'll even pay for a bloody monument built in your honor, but if _Roda's_ name ends up on that thing, too, _I'll beat Bellatrix to torturing you to insanity._"

Longbottom blanched, and Emma knew she'd gone too far.

"I apologize," she said quietly. "That was uncalled for."

He shook his head, almost blindly. "S'alright. I understand."

The scarlet of the Gryffindor tapestry behind him was so glaring that Emma had to turn away. "Will you make my sister drop out, then?"

"No." He sounded sympathetic. "I wish I could, but it really is her choice whether she wants to fight."

"She'd never drop out, then. You know Roda. She never did know what's best for her."

Longbottom fiddled with a loose thread from his sweater. "Maybe she's doing the right thing."

As Emma ran a finger down the silver mask of one of the fake Death Eaters, an idea struck her forcibly.

"Maybe," she echoed, and sighed, as if giving up. "And maybe she'll be alright with you people. After all—the Fidelius Charm." She shook her head, permitting a small smile to appear on her lips. "Quite, quite brilliant."

He looked at her, surprised and a little suspicious. "You really think so?"

"We Ravenclaws always appreciate a bit of ingenuity." She patted him on the forearm.

"Thanks," he said, reddening slightly.

"But I'm afraid I don't quite understand exactly how it works," said Emma innocently. "So Weasley came up with the idea, made herself Secret Keeper... But how come Creevey was able to tell me about it? Have you got two Secret Keepers, or more? Is that advisable?"

Longbottom smiled. "Nah, it's just Colin."

Emma hid her own smile of satisfaction. "Why him, though? Surely you or Weasley would be better..."

"Too obvious." He looked delighted with himself. "Nobody would suspect Colin, and he's amazingly loyal."

"So the Fidelius Charm only stops working if he betrays you—"

"But he'd never. He'd sooner die than betray us, I know that. Only then would the charm be broken."

They watched Luna produce a silvery rabbit, which skipped gracefully in circles around her. Beside her, Creevey's brow was furrowed in concentration, but his gerbil Patronus still looked rather wispy.

"Did he say his mother is a squib?" Emma's tone was light.

"...Yea, why?"

"Not a lot of difference between a muggle and a squib, is there?"

Longbottom froze. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"_Avada Kedavra_." There was a small, controlled flash of green light, and a spider an inch away from Longbottom's foot fell still.

He turned deathly pale. "_You wouldn't_. You were horrified when you had to _Crucio_ me, you wouldn't _kill_—"

"Don't tell me what I would or would not do, Longbottom." Her eyes glittered. "I have a birthday party next week. Most of the people attending it will be more than interested to hear what I have to say about Creevey. I wouldn't even get my hands dirty. Just a little mudblood boy who wants to play soldier... _Poor, poor Colin_." Something about the way she said it seemed to stun both of them momentarily.

Longbottom recovered first. _"What do you want?"_

"What do you think? She's my sister!"

They glared at each other. "You're killing someone to save another," said Longbottom finally. "It doesn't make any sense."

Emma took a deep, calming breath. "If you do as I wish, _nobody_ would die. You'd thought I may be dangerous, so you locked me in a cage—but what you don't know is that you've locked _yourself_ in with me. If you help me, I'll help you."

"No. We'll switch Secret Keepers," said Longbottom fiercely. "And you'll never find out who."

"Still, next week my tongue may just _slip_..."

He massaged his temples and exhaled. "Fine, what are your terms?"

"Finally," whispered Emma, in triumph. "So, you have to keep Roda from being directly involved in any sort of mission or battle whatsoever. Lie to her if you have to."

"I'm going to have to discuss this with Ginny and Luna."

"That's fine. Will you agree to an Unbreakable Vow?"

"No!"

Emma sniffed. "Sure. Doesn't matter to _Colin_ anyway."

Longbottom closed his eyes for a long moment before saying, "Emilia Vane, I really thought you were—"

The disappointment in his voice stung; Emma couldn't explain why it mattered. She gritted her teeth and interrupted him before he could say anything worse. "Also promise me the DA isn't going to carry out some petty, stupid act of rebellion against the Carrows simply for the hell of it."

"We have to keep our hopes up by taking action, Vane."

"The Carrows don't strike me as the particularly forgiving type."

"No," he agreed. "But sticking up for what we believe in is easier than what you're doing now."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "Oh, and what's that?"

"Flitting back and across the battle line, unsure of where your loyalties really lie, manipulating things to your own advantage. That can just as easily get you killed."

She gave a dismissive shrug. "Don't judge what you don't know, Longbottom." But she couldn't help wondering about what he said.

* * *

_A/N: HOHOHO WHEN IN DOUBT, BLACKMAIL GRYFFINDORS AND THREATEN THE LIVES OF INNOCENT KIDS._


End file.
